Why is it that, whenever one sets off on a long, potentially challenging, journey, the weather always has to be bad?
What does this stinking country have against the prospect of a sunny day already!
I spent much of my time muttering these same phrases under my breath as I and my new travelling companions made painfully slow progress along the winding track. They wanted to get to the city of Haesdra before the worst of the winter storms set in. Now, normally this wouldn't be a problem. Travelling was usually done at this time of year the weather was (normally) fairly mild.
The only problem was that strom season set in in just about five days and Haesdra was on the other side of a very steep mountain range.
Which, even if we moved at twice the speed we were going now, would take us at least two weeks to cross.
If you hadn't worked this out already, that means we would be trekking through the highest mountains in Fallia.
In the midst of gale-force blizzards.
However, on we plodded, slowly but surely making our way through the foothills towards the mountains known as the Stormpeak Ranges.
What an encouraging name, I thought sarcastically as, at the beginning of yet another day of travelling, we packed up our gear and set off.
We'd been keeping to the main roads mostly, they were straighter and generally meant faster travel than the winding goat tracks. We stayed mostly in small hamlets, paying for a couple of rooms in the small inns and leaving first thing in the morning. We didn't stop to talk to many people, nor did we arouse much suspicion. Travellers were normal here, passing through the mountains on their way to Sacoda and other trading cities.
This nondescript existance was brutally shattered, however, when we reached the village known as Trynne.
Here we would find not only our usual accomodation, food, ignorant peasants, and herds of smelly cows, but also something that would become rather attached to us in the next few days.